


Or so the Story's Told

by gypsydancergirl (hauntedlittledoll)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Random Literary References for the Win, Random Musical References for the Win
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/gypsydancergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel dislikes the Winchester brothers with an intensity that is only rivaled by his protective-instinct over his own brothers.  So if Gabriel must work with them, they can at least make themselves useful and babysit Castiel while he tries to save the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from the song "Lullaby" by Hypnogaja.
> 
> Epigraph borrowed from J. M. Barrie's "Peter Pan and Wendy."
> 
> Deviates from Supernatural canon roughly between 5.14 - "My Bloody Valentine" and 5.15 - "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid."

  
_“To die will be an awfully big adventure._ ”

_\- Peter Pan_

The motel was a small family-run affair. The vacancy sign flashed bravely against the rain and the darkness of night, hoping to tempt cars off the highway. Out of the dismal weather and into relative comfort. Yet no cars accepted the offer and the only car already residing outside in the parking lot was a black 1967 Chevy Impala.

Across the parking lot from this car, a figure appeared out of thin air, displacing the rain. To be accurate, it was two figures; one—the larger, older, and stronger figure—carried the second—it’s opposite—making the two appear as one.

Brothers can be like that.

Gabriel carried his younger brother’s vessel across the parking lot. Asleep, Castiel turned his face to Gabriel’s neck. It made the archangel pause. He didn’t have to do this. No one knew what he had done. No one had to.

He could take his brother and disappear into the human masses once more. He would have to give up tormenting the Winchesters, but he could do it for Castiel’s sake. They’d be the next great duo, inflicting poetic irony on over-commercialized Americans—the Gabriel and Castiel Show.

Sure, Castiel would be furious with him, but it’s not like his brother could do anything about it in this state. And if it’d keep Castiel happy, Gabriel could even search for their father. Anything to keep his brother wholly and selfishly to himself.

That was the important thing. Gabriel missed his family just as much as Castiel did. He just didn’t have Castiel’s faith that it could be repaired. Some things just couldn’t be fixed, but Castiel had always had the faith of ten angels.

Gabriel tightened his hold on the burden he bore. He would do what he could for Castiel. It wasn’t The Gabriel and Castiel Show, but it was what his brother would want. Slowly, Gabriel rested one hand over the small dark head of his brother’s vessel. “Castiel,” Gabriel called. “Castiel, it is time to wake up.” The vessel stirred, but then nestled further into the archangel’s jacket. Gabriel should have found something to replace the trenchcoat. The archangel might be holding off the rain, but it was still cold, and Castiel’s vessel was overly susceptible to that. “Castiel?” he tried again, borrowing some of his heavenly authority.

“Ga’riel?” Castiel mumbled, with barely a question in his tone. He shifted, supporting some of his own weight. One arm stayed around Gabriel’s neck for balance, and the other was raised unconsciously to swipe at tired eyes . . . only to stop mid-movement. “Gabriel,” Castiel started, completely awake now. “What’s wrong with me?”

Utterly still, Castiel marveled at his own small hand before his face. His voice was young, but still calm, collected, and coolly questioning.

“I’ve got everything under control,” Gabriel lied to his younger brother, already regretting the necessity of waking Castiel.

Awake, Castiel was stiff and awkward to hold—like a child-sized mannequin instead of a living, breathing, human child of indeterminate age or even the constantly vibrating energy of Castiel’s angelic form. The only support for the reality of the child-form was the rhythmic heartbeat pressed against Gabriel’s own chest. Pretending that was enough, Gabriel adjusted his hold to accommodate Castiel’s stiff posture, and stepped up to the door of Room #1, before vanishing into thin air.

* * *

He reappeared inside at the foot of the bed where Dean was lounging and across from the table where Sam was working on his computer. Both brothers surged to their feet, only to stumble belatedly to a halt with weapons half-drawn.

“Put it back,” Dean ordered as if he had any sort of control over what the archangel did or did not do. Gabriel would have remedied the misconception if not completely stymied by the odd greeting. Had Dean Winchester finally cracked while Gabriel was too busy to bear witness?

“The kid,” Sam clarified.

“I don’t care where or why you got it, but put it back,” Dean repeated.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Castiel beat him to the punch line. “Dean,” Castiel remonstrated gently, turning to face the brothers.

Gabriel did get a sadistic sort of amusement as he watched realization flicker across the Winchesters’ stunned faces, and he didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“Cas?” Dean choked out disbelievingly, staring at the child who was and wasn’t what he seemed.

“Castiel—no!” Gabriel leapt on the weakness. “Whatever gave it away?”

Privately, he wondered: what didn’t? Castiel’s voice was higher and younger, but collected—almost serene—in the way that only an angel’s could be. Also, he was unnaturally still. A real child would be squirming, asking questions, or even crying. Gabriel shuddered. What a real child would not be doing is to hang stiffly in a guardian’s grip, waiting patiently for an explanation of some of the weirdest stuff to go down for angel or humans.

Or maybe the unearthly blue eyes were the real give-away.

Dean finally pulled himself together, commanding (again) crisply, “Fix it.”

At the same time, Sam’s curiosity finally spilled over, “What did you do?”

The brothers paused, and turned to stare at each other in silent communication for a long moment. Castiel sighed. The childish body was growing heavier in Gabriel’s arms, and Castiel’s eyes fluttered tiredly. Whether it was Winchester-induced exhaustion, the late hour on a young body, or a symptom of something worse to come, Gabriel was curious as to how long his little brother could hold out. Catching on, Castiel raised his chin defiantly and met Gabriel’s amused look steadily.

The mortal brothers—resolved and of one mind again—turned back to the angels. Maybe now they would actually get somewhere.

Sam was their spokesperson as usual. “First of all, would you put Castiel down? You’re making Dean nervous.”

Gabriel sighed, and held out his brother. Dean stepped forward to take him automatically, hefting Castiel to rest against his side to the angel’s mortification.

“I can stand,” Castiel pointed out.

“No, you can’t,” Dean and Gabriel chorused, and then proceeded to glare at each other.

Sam chose to pretend the last two minutes hadn’t happened. “Now, Cas, why are you . . . er . . . smaller?” he finished weakly.

“I do not know,” Castiel pronounced, resisting Dean’s attempts to hold him like a child. This resulted in Castiel hanging from Dean’s arm which was locked around his torso. “I fought demons. I lost . . . both the battle and some time. There was pain, and then I woke outside. With Gabriel.” Quieter, “I do not know what became of my vessel . . . of Jimmy Novak.”

Gabriel snorted. “That is the vessel of—what’d you call him? Jimmy?”

Castiel frowned. “The last vestiges of Jimmy are not present,” he murmured, pressing one hand to the side of his head lightly. “Are you sure this is—” Castiel cut himself off. He understood now. The mortals were still confused, but they were more empathic than Gabriel might have guessed. Unconsciously, Dean smoothed the tousled hair, and shifted Castiel up to actually support the angel’s weight. Awkwardly, Castiel acquiesced.

“Okay, then just un-miniaturize Cas already,” Dean decided.

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “I can’t. This wasn’t my intent.”

“You mean the demons did it?” Sam interrupted. Worry creased the face of the youngest Winchester. “That could be difficult to reverse. You never know what they’re dabbling in, especially with Lucifer mucking up the works with new forms of evil.”

“I didn’t say it was the demons,” Gabriel pointed out, stung. “I said that I wasn’t _trying_ to shrink Castiel.”

“He means,” Castiel broke in, his voice clear and nonjudgmental, “that he made a mistake.”

Everything was silent for a long moment. Dean looked from Castiel to Gabriel and back again. “Sorry, say that again?”

“He means-” Castiel began. He always took things too literally, but Dean silenced him by covering his mouth with the man’s free hand.

“Explain,” Dean commanded, and to his disgust, Gabriel did.

“The demons have killed an angel,” Gabriel started at the beginning.

“I thought that wasn’t supposed to happen—magical swords and whatnot,” Dean scoffed.

“They turned her sword back upon her, and now they wield the weapon. It’s not instantaneous, but it’ll get the job done . . . if there is no one to intervene.”

Castiel looked sick, and actually less stiff with his excess show of emotions.

“But you were there. You intervened,” Sam spoke cautiously.

“I tried to heal both Castiel and his vessel,” Gabriel looked away. “I used too much power.”

“Gabriel is an archangel,” Castiel pointed out before the Winchesters could ask. “And stopping demon-warped angelic execution is somewhat of a new sporting event.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, as the Winchesters stared at the child in Dean’s arms. Sam found his voice first. “Was that a pop culture reference? Have you been watching the Olympics, Cas?”

Castiel stared levelly back at the youngest Winchester. “I like hockey.”

Gabriel was considering Castiel with considerably more suspicion than the foolish humans. Castiel had never been stupid, but the youngest angel seemed to have the Winchesters fooled into regarding Castiel as completely clueless about and therefore helpless in the mortal world surrounding him. As a matter of principle, he’d call Castiel on it in order to torment his younger brother and embarrass the Winchesters. But allowing Dean Winchester the unceasing opportunity to make a fool out of himself was also a matter of principle.

Gabriel decided to let it go. The diversion that Castiel had created was for Gabriel’s benefit after all. He could point out the Winchester’s thoughtless trust of a millennia-old being’s supposed naiveté next time. After all, Gabriel’s hoping that Sam and Dean will do him a favor—which means they have to want Castiel around.

“Healing is really only a matter of undoing the damage that’s been done. It’s really just a localized reversal of injury. It doesn’t even take a lot of power,” Castiel was lecturing by the time that Gabriel made his decision, the Winter Games forgotten. “When Dean was remade, the ruined state of his body . . . the wounds, the decay . . . it was all reversed to the point before Lillith’s hounds got a hold of him.”

“And I channeled more of my grace into him than would have been needed to cure cancer worldwide,” Gabriel huffed, not looking at any of them. “Less of a local reversal, more like a reverse of a bomb.” He dug his hands deep into his pockets. “It’s not like I’ve ever had to undo that kind of damage before. I was making it up as I went.”

The Winchesters are nodding like those bobble-headed things that belong on a car’s dash, and Gabriel briefly entertains the notion of turning them into ugly bobble-head dolls. He doesn’t need their understanding or empathy. He is an archangel. Archangels do not make mistakes.

Except Lucifer who fell—biggest mistake ever. And Michael who sent some of the most obnoxious angels in the garrison to persuade the most stubborn man on the planet to take what had to be the world’s worst offer—no wonder big bro was still without an outfit. Except Gabriel who had made their youngest brother even more freaking vulnerable than the renegade angel already freaking was.

Gabriel was not censoring himself in the presence of the child-sized angel who was his baby brother. He was not.

“So, um, if this is the product of a reversal already,” Sam hemmed and hawed. He’d already put it together then; score one for the college boy. “Then it can’t actually be reversed at all?” Sam made it sound like a question, but it wasn’t.

“Yep,” Gabriel grimaced. “Body will have to grow all over again. And whoever used to be in there is gone, because the guy’s mind won’t fit in that body. If Castiel leaves, it’ll be the equivalent of brain-dead.”

“Jimmy’s gone?” Sam asked with obvious guilt in his tone and face.

“He might be locked away in an unused portion of the brain,” Castiel offered, hopefully. “I cannot reach his consciousness, but that doesn’t mean he is not there . . . if I allow his body to grow, perhaps he will find his way back.”

Yeah, and perhaps Castiel’s got an empty suit waiting for when he finishes falling, Gabriel scoffs. People’s minds break everyday under less stress than an angelic vessel suffers.

“Dean,” the small angel caught the eldest Winchester’s face with one small hand. A touch is all Castiel needs to make his point. The bruises from whatever latest-hunt-to-go-south disappeared from the right side of Dean’s face. “Sam,” and Castiel reached out to touch the other brother’s shoulder. Gabriel hadn’t even realized how Sam had been favoring it up until now.

“You’ve got your mojo back!” Dean didn’t just sound cheerfully excited, but desperately relieved. Well, Gabriel had always believed guilt to be good for the soul. Castiel didn’t pick up on that though, and promptly ruined the hunter’s good mood.

“It’s Gabriel’s grace . . . what was left over when he healed me. It will fade?” Castiel looked to Gabriel for that.

“Yep. You’re still slowly falling, stupid,” Gabriel nodded. “Probably only take a week or so to burn the extra juice off.”

“Then I should make the most of it while I can,” Castiel decided, trying to free himself from Dean’s grip. “Bobby. Signs in Columbia. And there’s the matter of Pestilence . . . maybe Death, and I should do something about the ward-” Castiel cracked an impressive yawn, startling even himself before he shook it off. “Put me down, Dean. I must go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Gabriel cut the smaller angel off, slamming down a barrier of grace to confine Castiel’s goodwill. “You are staying here—with the Winchesters—where it’s safe.” And wasn’t that an ironic kick in the teeth. “Because you are nine kinds of vulnerable right now, bro, and I didn’t paint myself flashing red on the map for you to go off and get into more trouble.”

Castiel’s eyes flashed with cold fire. “Contrary to my appearance, I am _not_ a child, Gabriel!”

Gabriel was in and under Dean’s guard faster than even his little brother could perceive. “However, you are becoming human,” Gabriel intoned quietly, “and I’m sorry, but now that means you’ll be a child too.” The game was over. It was in Castiel’s best interests now to be put to sleep, but the betrayal in his brother’s eyes still burned as Gabriel sent the human vessel into dreamless sleep with two fingers brushing Castiel’s forehead.

Dean huffed, settling Castiel comfortably for the first time all night as the child slumped unconscious in his arms. “Well, that’s going to go over well in the morning.”

Gabriel had no response to that. This wasn’t what he _wanted_.

* * *

**The Gabriel and Castiel Show**

_Gabriel snapped his fingers, laying out a buffet of food across the coffee table. Reality shifted as the easy chair became a plush couch and Gabriel carefully settled his brother there, shaking the boy’s shoulder._

_“Hey, bro, welcome back.”_

_Castiel blinked up at him slowly. Gabriel can see the metaphorical wheels turning behind those blue eyes. A sigh of long-suffering patience, and then . . ._

_“Hello, Gabriel.”_

_Satisfied, Gabriel settled back in his crouch. Castiel shifted to sit up and nearly fell off the sofa when his feet didn’t reach the ground as expected. Gabriel halted the movement with one hand, steadying the younger angel who was only now surveying his considerably smaller feet. After some serious contemplation of his toes, Castiel switched his gaze to his hand. “What happened to me, Gabriel?”_

_“I’ve got everything under control,” Gabriel lied, with the biggest shit-eating grin he can muster._

_Castiel’s eyes closed, and when they opened again, the little angel just shrunk in on himself. “I assume the demons are no more?”_

_Gabriel coughed. “Most of ‘em.”_

_“And our sister’s sword?”_

_Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll get it back tomorrow. I wanted to make sure you were going to survive the night first.”_

_Castiel looked at Gabriel searchingly. “This is permanent.”_

_“Afraid so.”_

_Castiel sighed heavily, and slid off the couch. His bare feet slapped against the floor. “I must return to Dean and Sam. They will become-”_

_“No.”_

_Castiel stared up at Gabriel in vague confusion. He didn’t understand yet, and when he did—it wouldn’t be pretty. Gabriel raised his Grace in the familiar steady patterns that the renegade half-fallen angel would be unable to match. It was stronger than Holy Oil. Castiel’s borrowed breath caught._

_“No,” Gabriel repeated. “The Winchesters are on their own now. You’re staying on the sidelines with me.”_

_“No, Gabriel,” his little brother breathed. “No, do not do this. You must let me go to the Winchesters. They need me.”_

_“I don’t care.”_

_“I must . . . I . . .” the diminutive angel brought himself up to his full and unimpressive height. “Release me, Gabriel.”_

_“So you can sacrifice yourself at Ground Zero when the Winchesters finally give-in? I don’t think so.”_

_“The Winchesters will not give in,” Castiel insisted._

_“They will,” Gabriel returned. “It’s their destiny, and if you’re at their side when this all goes down, you **will** die.”_

_“There are some things worth dying for,” Castiel was quoting someone, and it’s cliché, and Gabriel just can’t take it anymore._

_“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Gabriel growled. “What is this—twice now? Get it through your head, Castiel! There is **nothing** **here** worth dying for!”_

_Castiel gazes up at him with cold, cold fire in those unnatural blue eyes. “I choose to believe differently,” he informed Gabriel quietly._

_He flinched when Gabriel grabs him by the arms, but not even the archangel realized what he was going to do before he did it. “I’m not giving you a choice,” he promised darkly._

_Before Castiel can argue, Gabriel has spun him around, picked him up, and reclaimed the sofa with Castiel in his lap._

_“You are my brother. You are vulnerable which is my fault, and I am going to fix it. Until then, you sit down and shut up.”_

_The boy shifted awkwardly, but Gabriel’s arm around him is a vice as the archangel picks up the remote and settles on some Mystery Science Theater. The sound of the TV brings Pete running, and finding his spot taken, the dog takes up residence in Castiel’s lap instead. Gabriel doesn’t know if it’s the innocent animal’s presence or Castiel actually accepting the futility of escape right now that makes his brother stay where he’s been put._

_For now, it didn’t matter._

**We now return you to your regular broadcasting.**

* * *

“Um . . . er . . . Gabriel?”

Dean’s obviously reluctant interruption reminded the archangel of the here and now. It was also quite possibly the first time that the eldest Winchester had been forced to use his name. That had its own satisfaction, and Gabriel nodded to indicate that he was listening.

“Did you really have to knock him out? He’ll be pissed in the morning . . .”

“He’ll be terrified in the morning,” Gabriel corrected.

Dean looked down at Castiel’s tousled head. “The lights-out trick isn’t supposed to work on angels,” he realized.

“My case in point: it obviously just did. He’s falling faster than even he realized, and he had better come to terms with it sooner rather than later.” Gabriel flicked a glance upward, and Dean deflated.

“This really isn’t a prank, is it?”

“Would I have come out of hiding just to mess with you?” Gabriel glared. “It’s not that much fun. I get nothing out of reminding Michael and Lucifer that I’m still around.”

“Then why are you here?”

“For Castiel,” the angel threw his arms out. “Look, this wasn’t planned. All I wanted to do today was smite the filthy demons responsible for my sister’s death, and recover her weapon from the hands of those who figured out how to use it against her. I’m an archangel and a trickster; it’s in the job description.”

Gabriel forced down the Grace that was flaring up on its own now, because the humans were starting to look edgy, and studied the sleeping child in Dean’s arms. “Castiel wasn’t supposed to _beat me there_.”

Dean grimaced. That was probably ringing some bells for the older brother. Bloody ones. After a moment of discomfort, Dean turned and handed off Castiel to Sam. “I need a beer. Or ten. Sam?” The younger brother shook his head. “You?”

So much for given names among not-friends.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, acquiring the Winchesters’ beer from the cooler. Dean jumped half a foot when the bottle appeared in his hand. Unable to complain about the fast service, Dean swallowed down whatever he was going to say, and chose a new topic.

“How old do you think his vessel is now?”

Sam took a seat on the edge of the closest bed, but didn’t put Castiel down. So it wasn’t just Gabriel then. That was comforting. “Maybe ten or eleven?” Sam suggested.

Gabriel shrugged. “Older I would think. Twelve or so at least. Ask your hunter-friend; he’d probably have a good idea.”

“Twelve . . . what are we supposed to do with a twelve year old . . . twelve year old . . .” if Sam’s arms weren’t full, he’d be waving them helplessly. “Is he still an angel? You said earlier . . . is Cas human now?”

“He’s falling,” Gabriel shrugged. It wasn’t a particularly helpful answer, but it would have to do. “And as for what to do with him . . .” the archangel trailed off with a shrug. “Well, I thought you might start by taking care of him.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean protested, slamming the bottle down on the table. “I thought you were all about us saying yes to your brothers. Now you want us to babysit the only angel wanted dead by both sides while possessed by the two opposing generals?”

“You’re stubborn asses,” Gabriel pointed out, “and I’m seeing at least another half a year of hard-headedness before you get a clue. If you’re going to be a perennial thorn in my side, then you may as well make yourselves useful while you do it. It isn’t even that hard. All I want you to do is keep a child safe for the next six months. You’ve got the sigils and Bobby Singer’s fantastic warding . . .” If Gabriel was not above such actions as an archangel, he would have drooled over the impressive wards the hunter had erected over his home. Singer Salvage could drop off the supernatural map at a moment’s notice.

Back to business.

“You’re practically invisible. Neither side will recognize Castiel unless we give them reason to look harder, and by now the word has spread and the demons think that they’ve succeeded in killing him,” Gabriel snorted. “I’m going to allow them to think that by going out and smiting every last one with a hand in this debacle.”

The only debacle was his completely ineffective demonstration of power and stupidity, but the Winchesters are sufficiently stunned that they miss that opening. Gabriel plowed onward, aiming for the astronomical guilt complexes. “Castiel’s your guardian angel, so it’s time you repaid the favor, don’t you think?”

He had Sam . . . and Dean too although the older hunter didn’t want to admit it. “What do you get out of this?” Dean growled. “Saving Cas . . . bringing him here . . .?”

“It saves me the trouble of doing it myself now that I’ve pretty much painted a target on my back with tonight’s light show. My hands are going to be full.”

“You hid from them once,” Sam pointed out.

“They weren’t looking for me.” Gabriel glared at them both as a matter of principle, because he’s an archangel, which gives him the right to pin the blame solely on these two. “I’m not fighting _any_ of my brothers. I refuse. And Castiel isn’t going to fight them either. This is officially now _my_ side of the war, and _I_ am in charge, and you two _will_ listen to me, and _no one_ is going to die, _especially Castiel_.”

Sam was trying not to laugh. Dean had given up the battle when beer spurted from his nose, and Gabriel decided that his next motivational speech will be delivered with all the authority of an archangel’s voice complete with ear-bleeding tones.

Dean held out his hand, still shaking with laughter. “Welcome to Team Freewill, Private Gabe. Dean Winchester, your broke but fearless leader.”

The archangel had been behaving himself all night—rather admirably, in his personal opinion. But patience can only go so far, and he banished Dean temporarily to the first place that comes to mind. When he returned Dean sixty seconds later, the eldest Winchester was quieter and wiping green goo out of his hair.

“My name is Gabriel,” the archangel informed the humans coldly. “I am not playing games anymore. I have a plan,” Gabriel lied. “And if it works, everyone benefits and no one dies.” That was his role—Gabriel the peacemaker. “Six months, boys, and it’s not like you have anything better.”

The Winchesters regarded each other silently and solemnly. Gabriel waited impatiently, arms crossed and foot tapping. Finally, Dean looked away and nodded. “Any funny business—any at all,” Dean warned.

“You worry about your end, and let me worry about mine. Like I said, you’ve got the easy part.”

“What are you going to do?” Sam asked.

“Pick up where Castiel left off,” Gabriel returned. “I will search for our Father, and investigate ways to halt or slow the apocalypse. The two of you, continue your stubborn and completely unhelpful pissing contest with my brothers, but keep Castiel safe.”

“We can do that,” Sam nodded. “We will do that.”

Gabriel looked back once more at Castiel fast asleep in Sam’s arms. Then he returned his gaze to Dean. “I will be back. If you mess this up . . .” he trailed off, leaving it to the hunter’s imagination.

“Nothing’s getting to Cas without finding a way to permanently do Sam and me in,” Dean promised grimly.

“I will always be able to bring you back and kill you again if it should,” Gabriel warned.

“We’d let you,” Sam murmured. His eyes were fixed on Castiel as if the answers were hidden in the child-angel. If only it could be that easy.

With that taken care of, Gabriel raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and disappeared. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title borrowed from the song "Lullaby" by Hypnogaja.
> 
> Epigraph borrowed from "The Lord of the Rings" by J. R. R. Tolkien.

_“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”_

_-Bilbo Baggins_

This was a big thing. Big things require changes, preparation, and time.

The Winchesters had been given less than six hours to find another hunter to finish the job, track down a coat and shoes for their charge, and acclimate themselves to being . . . well . . . long-term guardians. In the process, they crossed two state lines and broke into two secondhand stores to find the right-size sneakers. Dean did the driving, and Sam did the stealing.

By the time they reached South Dakota, Dean was in an acceptable state of denial. His brother was sitting next to him. He was on his way to Bobby’s. The car was purring under him, and his guardian angel was in the backseat. Some minor inconsistencies aside, this was as good as Dean Winchester’s life got.

One moment Castiel was asleep in the backseat, leaning against the window with his head pillowed on Sam’s coat. The next he was sitting up stiffly, staring solemnly at Dean in the rearview mirror, Sam’s coat fallen across his lap.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Dean grinned.

Castiel didn’t dignify that with a response. Dean hadn’t expected one.

Sam twisted to peer over the edge of the seat. “Castiel? How are you doing?”

“I am fine.”

Sam wasn’t one to let things go. Twisting a little further, he tried a different angle. “Did you sleep well?”

“I would rather not do it again.”

Dean turned his face slightly to hide his grin. Because now . . . now it was on. Samuel Winchester the touchiest-feeliest (theoretically) male individual in the universe versus Castiel, angel of the Lord and Heaven’s long-reigning champ at repressing all emotions.

“Did you have nightmares?” Sam frowned worriedly. “You seemed to be pretty peaceful, or we would have woken you up, but maybe-”

“I did not dream.”

“Oh . . . okay, was it uncomfortable sleeping in the car then?”

“I was unaware.”

“You weren’t scared waking up alone, were you?” Sam pressed on. Dean had previously pointed out that less than two feet away in the enclosed space of the Impala did not count as being alone, but Sam was stubborn. “I knew I should have sat back there with you . . .”

“I am _not_ a child,” Castiel fairly-growled in the same tone of voice used to confront the youngest Winchester back in Alliance.

Dean could have predicted that response if he’d been given even a split second to warn Sam. He spared a sympathetic look for his brother, and redirected his attention to the road. He wasn’t touching this argument with a ten foot pole.

“Look . . . I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled in the direction of his lap.

Castiel raised one eye-brow, and for crying out loud, Dean was supposed to be driving, not playing mute referee! Scowling, he redoubled his attention on the stretch of highway before him, and the obnoxious van trying to sneak past him.

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked after a moment of awkward silence had passed.

“ _We_ ,” Dean emphasized, “are going to Bobby’s.”

“I could make better time on my own, Dean.”

“If you wing out, I’ll call Gabriel before you land. It’s your dignity at stake if big bro has to drag you back.”

For a moment, Castiel is silent, but Dean knows better than to think he’s won the argument. Sure enough, just when Sam relaxes, the angel in the backseat speaks up again.

“Gabriel did not leave you with a means to contact him.” It isn’t a question.

“Nope, but if I pull over and start yelling, how many angels do you think I can attract if I make a big enough scene?” Dean grinned, his victory assured.

“Such actions would be suicidal.”

“Guess you better stick around then,” Dean shrugged. “You want to heal Bobby, and I’m on board with that, but we’re driving.”

“There is so much more I could be doing,” Castiel tried. “This is slow . . . confining.”

“Yeah, it’s going to slow and confine your ass down before you blow through the extra juice and pass out in Timbuktu.”

“There are no signs in Timbuktu at present that might merit a search-”

“Cas, a grown man found alone and unconscious goes to a hospital or maybe a shelter. An unconscious kid . . . well, that’s when Social Services get involved, which can complicate things.”

Castiel was silent long enough that Dean snuck another glance at him. The angel was staring out the window—silent, stiff as a board and hands fisted in Sam’s coat.

It was a long way to Bobby’s.

* * *

The moment that Dean stopped the car, Castiel disappeared from the backseat, reappearing outside and waiting patiently for the brothers to catch up.

“And we’re back to completely ignoring doors,” he muttered too low for Sam to catch, but not low enough to get past Castiel. He decided that the ghost of an expression on Castiel’s face was self-satisfaction—part pleasure and part defiance.

Proud, Dean tousled the already-messy hair. It startled the angel, but Dean left his hand there to direct Castiel better. They had to teach him to act like a kid sooner or later, Dean reasoned, shouldering his duffle to advance on the porch.

“Does it look like I’m running an orphanage?” Bobby growled at them, arms crossed. “Hello, Feathers.”

Dean’s eyebrows climbed. “How did you . . .”

“I looked at him, ya idjit. Get inside,” Bobby waved them past. Dean gave Castiel a push in the right direction. “This is number two now, Dean Winchester,” Bobby snapped as he wheeled around to follow.

“Number two what?” Sam asked, bringing up the rear.

“Second boy that he tried bringing ‘round here so I’d do the dirty work. First the antichrist, and now a mini-angel . . . when I said that you were better than your dad, boy, I didn’t mean for you to try trumping his every track record. So help me,” and now back to Sam, “if one more Winchester comes to my yard with a kid in tow . . .”

Dean blanched, and Castiel took advantage of his distraction to move towards Bobby, one hand already outstretched. Sam intercepted him hastily. “Wait a second, Cas. You should warn him first.”

“Warn me . . . what’s going on?” Bobby demanded.

“Cas got a temporary power boost along with . . . well, that,” Dean indicated Castiel’s diminished height with an awkward wave. “If it’s alright with you, angel-boy wanted to give healing a second try.”

Bobby stiffened, his hands clenching hard enough to make the metal creak ominously. “How temporary are we talkin’?” he asked gruffly.

“My control of the power is temporary,” Castiel spoke up. “The healing will be permanent, Bobby.”

“Then get on with it, boy,” Bobby snarled.

Castiel sighed heavily. “That is what I was trying to do,” he gave Sam a particularly reproachful look as he slipped out of the youngest Winchester’s grasp.

Castiel reached out and covered one of Bobby’s hands with his own. That was all it took. Bobby inhaled sharply. His right leg twitched, and . . . then Castiel was collapsing.

Dean and Sam leapt forward, but Bobby was faster. One arm hooked around the angel’s waist and Castiel fell against the hunter who stood on his own two legs for the first time in months. With one shuddery breath, Castiel straightened again as if the last thirty seconds had never occurred, and made to shift out of Bobby’s grip.

The hunter wasn’t having any of it. Castiel sighed heavily from where his face pressed into the folds of Bobby’s flannel shirt. “I am fine,” he repeated with a long-suffering air.

Sam was fluttering anxiously beyond the arm that Bobby flung up to ward the worried Winchesters off, but Dean retreated at Castiel’s reassurance, collapsing into the nearest chair.

“Dean?” Castiel turned as far as he could within the hunter’s iron grip.

“I thought Gabriel said it would take a week for the extra mojo to wear off, Cas!” Dean snapped. “And here you go, passing out with your first miracle?”

“The excess grace does not reverse the damage already done,” Castiel murmured. His words were muffled by Bobby, and Dean suspected that was Castiel’s intention or the angel would have just zapped away a few feet already. “I am limited by my vessel, and since my death . . . well, I am bound to Jimmy Novak tighter than most. Using angelic grace is hard on a mortal body.”

“Then what’s the good of extra grace if it hurts you to use it?”

“I have the grace to reverse such damage when it occurs,” Castiel returned. He was suddenly right there staring at Dean until the hunter was forced looked away.

“If you two are done with your _moment_ ,” Bobby grumbled, “would you mind telling me what the Trickster did to you all this time? And maybe why he felt turning Feathers into a runt would get the two of you stubborn asses to say yes?”

Dean met Sam’s eyes over Castiel’s head.

The younger brother cleared his throat noisily. “Well, Castiel was a mistake, and hard as it may be to believe, I don’t think it had anything to do with Dean and me. It’s . . . well, it’s complicated. And Gabriel . . .”

Dean stared harder at his brother, willing him to pick up on telepathy just this once. _C’mon, Sammy, let me tell him. This is rich, and his reaction . . . please, Sammy, let me tell him._

Sam shrugged, and stepped back. Dean imagined his most exasperated _Go ahead._

Dean grinned, and turned to Bobby. “The take-no-sides Archangel Gabriel has decided to take over Team Freewill and fight the apocalypse single-handedly.”

It’s a good thing that Bobby hadn’t stepped away from the wheelchair, because it was still there when he laughed so hard, he needed to sit down.

* * *

Sam picked at the sandwich in front of him, cowering under the shouting that went back and forth over his head. Across from him, Castiel serenely ignored his surroundings as he inspected the food before him. Sam envied the calm.

“So you’re just going to trust the Trickster who wants the two of you dead or worse!”

“I’m not going to trust him, Bobby! I just don’t see how spitting in his face will accomplish anything if he is actually serious about helping.”

“He’s _the Trickster_!” Bobby shouted.

“I’m not saying that we have to like the guy, Bobby! And the first thing I want to do is figure out how he found us. The sigils that Cas gave us were supposed to prevent that from happening, and this is the second time he’s tracked us down despite them.”

“He will return,” Castiel sighed deeply, swirling the patterns of yet-more obscure sigils into the tomato soup before him. “Gabriel promised, didn’t he?”

Both men turned as one to glare at the angel. Sam ducked his head, taking a renewed interest in his sandwich. Castiel did not follow his lead, but stared at the other hunters patiently.

“Eat yer food,” Bobby grumbled, looking away first.

“I do not require sustenance.”

“Don’t care,” Bobby returned flatly. “No child goes hungry in my house.”

“But I am not hun—”

“Cas, just eat the sandwich,” Dean ordered, dragging one hand over his face tiredly. “Eat the freaking sandwich, try the soup, and shut up.”

The spoon clattered into the dish, and Sam cautiously did not watch the renewed staring contest. Early on in the disaster of last year, the Winchesters had speculated on why Castiel had been chosen to keep an eye on Dean, and Sam’s current bet was that there just wasn’t another angel stubborn enough to stand up to Dean Winchester.

But coming from a twelve year old vessel . . . this just had to be reminiscent of the Winchester brother staring contests that had reached legendary proportions once Sam hit adolescence. In which case, Dean was guaranteed to lose.

Sam snickered.

Irritated green eyes and disappointed blue ones landed on him simultaneously.

“This is not funny, Sam,” Castiel informed him. “I do not require sustenance. I am not a child. And Dean does not have the authority to—”

“You want to bet?”

“Will you both act your age?” Sam demanded, the humor dying as rapidly as it had come. “Dean, don’t torment the angel. Castiel, eat your food.”

“I am not a child!” Castiel shouted, windows rattling at the edge—just an edge present in his tone.

Even Bobby saw that one coming. It came with twenty-odd years of experience with the Winchester boys. It came as no surprise to the old hunter that their guardian angel would be just as mule-headed as the both of them. Pack of fools. Didn’t mean the featherbrain was right either though.

“Look, Cas,” Sam sighed heavily, “we know that you’re millennia old, but the average normal person on the street is going to see a kid—one who should be in school five days out of the week, goof off, play soccer . . .”

“What is it with you and soccer?” Dean grumbled. “Soccer this and soccer that. Ten years of soccer . . . and you’re still not over the phase. It’s not the only sport out there, Sam. Now, football . . .”

“That’s not the point, Dean! People expect kids to be in school, not tailing two FBI agents, or electricians, or health inspectors, or whatever we are that week!”

“What good is school going to do in the face of the apocalypse, Sam?!”

And like that, the Winchesters were off.

Castiel had long-since tuned them out, staring absently over the table with his untouched meal before him. Bobby gave a heavy sigh and rapped the angel over the head.

“You don’t leave the table until the food’s gone, Feathers. It’s your own fault it got cold.”

Castiel frowned and picked up the spoon. Bobby knew the kid had more sense than the Winchesters combined—errant archangel brothers aside.

Bobby got between the Winchesters (relishing the ability to actually physically intervene) and with the ease of long practice collared Dean with one hand and snagged the back of Sam’s shirt with the other. Startled, the boys followed his non-verbal order and Bobby herded them out of the kitchen and into the living room with ease.

Like toddlers, they had to be set up on opposite sides of the room. Sam over at the desk with a pile of books on angels, Enochian, and Bobby’s personal notes on the angelic faction; Dean took the couch with what Bobby had of Trickster lore. That taken care of, Bobby settled into his neglected comfy chair with a satisfied noise and a book on reversal spells. He wasn’t about to take the Trickster at his word that Castiel’s altered state was permanent.

He just wasn’t meant to be a father. Bobby was pretty sure that he was unqualified for the task under normal circumstances, and the Winchesters were anything but normal.

Unfortunately, someone had to do it, and John Winchester had already died for the cause.

Bobby still cringed when the words “You finish your dinner?” came out of his mouth. This would not do. However the argument was resolved, Sam and Dean would be taking the littlest angel with them when they left his house.

Castiel had stopped short in the doorway and stared at Bobby with unnerving intensity. “Yes,” the angel answered cautiously.

“You have any more pearls of wisdom about your brother, Feathers, or you want to sit down with the warding stack over there?” Bobby indicated a teetering stack that braced up the decrepit end table.

“Gabriel can wait,” Castiel was decisive. “We should take advantage of the strategic boon we have been granted while I still have extra grace at my command. Pestilence has been spotted in Kansas, and I need to go to Colombia. There are signs . . .”

“Dude,” Dean interjected. “We are not going to Colombia. Kansas, maybe, but not Colombia.”

“It will only take me a few hours,” Castiel attempted.

“You’re not going anywhere by yourself,” Dean told him flatly. “Limit your wanderings to the U.S. and we’ll take you, but no pond-skipping.”

Castiel’s mouth worked wordlessly for a moment, before he shook the confusion off and disregarded the comment as irrelevant Dean-speak. Straightening up to his full and unimpressive height, Castiel squared his shoulders, pointed at Dean, and proclaimed loudly, “You are being hypocritical, rude, and condescending, Dean Winchester.” Dean was gaping. “And I have things to do.”

With that said, Castiel winked out.

Bobby idly considered in the aftermath of that particular event that if he started a swear jar, Dean Winchester would make him the wealthiest man alive, and it might be worth cleaning up his own language in the long run. Turning away from that idle fancy, Bobby waded into the chaos, sending both Winchesters into their respective seats.

“The angel is just outside,” he pointed out the window at the Impala. The two fools craned their necks to make out the small figure sitting in the backseat. “He didn’t go far, and he took one of the Bibles. Probably researching Pestilence which is the first smart thing any of you have done since this whole mess started.”

Sam and Dean uneasily shifted in their seats.

Bobby had to get in one last parting shot. “Idjits.”

* * *

Gabriel caught up to the demons in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. If it was an attempt by the demons to throw off their pursuer with nostalgic irony, it fell short. Gabriel should know; he’s the expert on cruel irony.

The real Bethlehem hadn’t been anything like this.

Gabriel was not going to be backed into a corner by any sort of trap the demons thought to lay. He was not here to smite and be done with it. He was here to fool Lucifer and co. into believing that Castiel was dead.

Gabriel normally liked the confinement of his vessel. It kept him focused, but now he needed to release his true form temporarily to acquire a near-forgotten weapon. Just a little bit. He couldn’t fully leave his vessel open to danger and/or demon possessions. But as the weight of his wings evened out, spreading to their full span, Gabriel nearly fell from the altering of his balance. He recovered hastily, bringing them in again. The full white feathers fell protectively around his vessels form as Gabriel concentrated, reaching out with caution.

The weight of a metal unknown to earth filled his grasp and Gabriel locked himself back into the vessel abruptly. Fighting with only partial control was not an option, and Gabriel settled comfortably into his skin once more, with his sword in hand.

Gabriel felt the hum, not unlike the rhythm of wings in flight. It had been centuries since he had last held his weapon, and at the time, he had been quite drunk. The blade was an extension of himself, designed to kill anything in creation . . . demons, humans, his brothers and sisters at his Father’s word.

Gabriel despised fighting. Hated it with every fiber of his being. He was a messenger. His sister, Shevael, had been a scholar—not a soldier. Her defeat and death had been unprovoked, unnecessary, and meaningless. The attack on Castiel was understandable to an extent for his actions in the war, but it had come too close on the heels of another sibling’s death.

The demon who had slain Shevael . . . who had attempted to kill Castiel . . . it owed its continued existence to the fact that Castiel survived. That Gabriel’s attention had been drawn away by his younger brother’s suffering.

There was nothing to distract Gabriel now. He may have been too late for Shevael, but Castiel was now safely hidden away with the Winchesters.

He was a messenger, but he had been a warrior once under his brother’s command. It wasn’t something one could exactly forget. If Gabriel was taking up the mantle of an archangel once more, he would utilized every tool he controlled to keep his brothers safe—all of them, but particularly the ones he had failed. And Castiel for Gabriel’s own sake.

* * *

**The Gabriel and Castiel Show**

_Stealth was a virtue. Or at least a hard-earned skill, which Gabriel did enjoy employing on occasion as he crept forward. When his target didn’t stir, Gabriel gripped the edge of the mattress and yanked hard._

_“Rise and shine, little bro!”_

_Castiel’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he jerked awake only to find himself falling to the floor. He didn’t make a sound himself even as his body thumped painfully to the floor. He didn’t move, just knelt there tensed for a fight, and yes, that was Castiel’s knife in his hand._

_With an impatient sigh, Gabriel crouched to his brother’s level and got in the kid’s face. “Put the knife away, bro, I’m not about to hurt you.”_

_Castiel met his eyes cautiously, and sighed heavily before obeying and rising slowly. “Gabriel,” he murmured warily. “You must allow me to return to the Winchesters now.”_

_Gabriel snapped his fingers, sounding a buzzer out of nowhere that made Castiel flinch. “Wrong! Which leaves door number two . . . a day of brotherly bonding and not trying to get yourself killed. Hurry up and get changed. We have a full day ahead of us.”_

_“We do not have time for this, Gabriel. The apocalypse is proceeding at an alarming pace. I must check-in with Sam and Dean, so that I may continue my search, Gabriel, and you promised to retrieve our sister’s weapon.”_

_Gabriel tensed, but forced a grin. “Minor side-trip . . . one I’ll handle on my own, thank you very much. You can walk Pete in the pocket dimension of your choice, while I take care of it. I’ll even bring back breakfast.”_

_“I do not require sustenance.”_

_“Neither do I, but the doughnuts are awesome. Get dressed.”_

_“I am fully clothed.”_

_“Yeah, change into some of the other stuff I got you,” Gabriel jerked his thumb at the pile of clothing he had dumped on the chair after putting Castiel to bed last night. Glancing around the room, Gabriel considered that he might have overdone it a little._

_Seeing as Castiel was easily occupied by such things as wallpaper, windows, and air, it would probably take a decade or two before he even considered the gaming system, sporting equipment, and every other essential item that a normal twelve year old boy might ever express an interest in. Also, the room had become limited in space as the pile grew._

_Castiel stared at it now with obvious trepidation. The chair was scarcely visible now. “My clothing will suffice,” he asserted decisively._

_Gabriel rolled his eyes, reached into the pile, and pulled. “Humans change clothes every day . . . sometimes twice a day,” he offered conversationally, giving a good tug on the jeans. The pile gave a dangerous wobble before settling. Gabriel had always been rather good at **Jenga** —cosmic superpowers notwithstanding._

_Castiel stared at him with exasperation and a little bit of awe. It did Gabriel’s ego a world of good, and he ruffled his little brother’s hair before shoving the pile of clothing into his brother’s arms._

_“Hurry up. If Pete has an accident, I’m making you clean it up.”_

_“If I understand Dean correctly, you have had that dog for at least three years now. Surely, he’s housebroken.”_

_“Shut up and get dressed, Castiel,” Gabriel returned over his shoulder. “And don’t get any ideas!” he warned, loosing enough grace to make Castiel think twice about disobeying. His little brother was a rebel after all._

_With a lighter heart at the soft but sincere insult that followed him out, Gabriel returned to the main room of the apartment whistling a jaunty tune. Pete perked up from his spot on his canine-equivalent of a king-sized bed, and Gabriel slapped one hand against his thigh. Pete rushed to join him and Gabriel puttered around the kitchen pretending to be useful with the dog yapping at his heels. Domestic tasks could be entertaining—all one needed was a singing scrub brush, dancing silverware, and little brothers who were would-be-snitches about abuses of angelic grace._

_Castiel’s disapproving frown was worth bad show tunes. With a weary sigh, the younger angel shook it off and planted himself squarely in front of Gabriel with the air of one who has had an epiphany._

_“Thank you for your assistance, Gabriel,” and Castiel’s good. He even managed to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I deeply appreciate your intervention on my behalf.”_

_Gabriel grinned, because Castiel was a deluded little fool if he thought Gabriel would expend this much effort to merely teach him some manners. “You’re welcome, Bro.”_

_There was a moment of awkward silence, before Castiel tried again. “Will you please lower the barriers now?”_

_“Nope.”_

_Castiel took a step back, a puzzled look in his eyes, and then retreated to the other side of the counter. Pete followed him, pawing and leaping up onto him, but Castiel ignored the excited animal. “What payment do you wish for saving my life?” Castiel asked guardedly._

_Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I’m not a crossroads demon, bro. No deals. No payment. I am exorcising my right as the older brother to confine you to my immediate presence for . . . oh, I don’t know a century or two.”_

_“We don’t have a century . . . or two,” Castiel stumbled over the new phrase. “The apocalypse is proceeding at a rapid pace, and the Winchesters require my assistance . . .”_

_“Too bad, Castiel. You’re not leaving.” To cut his brother off, Gabriel slapped Pete’s leash on the counter before Castiel. “You’re going to walk the dog. I’m going to smite a handful of demons, and then we are going to eat a highly unhealthy breakfast just because we can.”_

_Castiel glanced down at the excitable animal that up until now had been the sole recipient of Gabriel’s undying affection. Pete near about turned himself inside-out with delight at the attention. Spoiled? Nah._

_“I am . . . familiar . . . with the concept,” Castiel proclaimed somewhat dubiously. “But I have never actually . . .”_

_“Pick a place, open the door, and off you go. I’ll let you back in when I get back.”_

_Castiel eyed the door speculatively with the leash in hand. “And if I choose the Winchesters’ location?”_

_Gabriel shrugged, and crouched to hook the leash to Pete’s collar. “Won’t be them. Just my interpretation of them, and trust me, bro, you don’t want to see that.”_

_Castiel didn’t argue with that. “Colombia,” Castiel returned instead._

_Gabriel snapped his fingers. Recognizing the implication, Pete dragged Castiel out the door. Gabriel waved them off, shouting “Take your time!” after them._

_Castiel wanted to look for signs in Colombia? Pfft. Gabriel’s version of Colombia was much more exciting and entertaining. By the time Gabriel was finished with his errand, Castiel may never willingly walk out that door again._

**We now return you to your regular broadcasting.**

* * *

There were thirty-seven angels dead if one began counting with Lucifer’s rise and the beginning of the apocalypse. Forty-nine if one counted from the return of the angels to Earth. Ninety-one if that count began with the day Gabriel left Heaven behind.

Gabriel could only blame his own brothers (and even himself) for most of those deaths. He could not confront the responsible siblings that he still loved, could not perpetuate the meaningless violence, and could not win justice for the lost.

He could certainly take out the frustration and grief on the demons who had managed for the first time ever to kill an angel, and take her blade with the intent of further destruction.

* * *

Bobby crossed the short distance of yard to the Impala, reveling in the control and freedom of the act. Even though the angel would have sensed his approach, Bobby rapped smartly on the rear window above the dark head.

It disappeared from view, and then Castiel stood before him, smaller than ever and awkward in jeans and sneakers. It took away from the otherworldliness of the angel to be rendered not only human, but this most powerless, helpless form.

“May I help you, Bobby?” Castiel asked, books tucked carefully under his arm.

“It’s getting late. Well, past time normal kids should be in bed,” Bobby pointed out gruffly. “You tell me if it’s something to worry about now rather than later, Feathers.”

Castiel met his eyes, and the eyes were still the same—the millennia old angel was in command here. “I do not require sleep at present, and should not unless injured and unable to heal.”

Fat chance of that happening in the near future, Bobby scoffed internally. Not with the way the Winchester boys were behaving, or that archangel joining up, or . . .

“Come on in anyway,” Bobby offered gruffly, one hand coming to rest on the angel’s shoulder. “I’ve got some coffee on.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title borrowed from the song "Lullaby" by Hypnogaja.
> 
> Epigraph borrowed from "Into the Land of the Unicorns" by Bruce Coville.

_That’s another funny thing, now that I think of it. Sometimes when you mend a chain, the place where you fix it is strongest of all.”_

_-Thomas the Tinker_

The first thing angels are taught when it comes to fighting is to know their enemy. Fallen angel, demon, human . . . each with their own strengths and weaknesses . . . had to be considered before battle began.

Gabriel’s enemy today was demons.

There were two types of demonic battle strategy. One, a large group rushes en mass directly at the target. Two, a single demon waited patiently for a target to be rendered vulnerable and took advantage to make the pain last. The former is usually employed by lesser demons, and the higher classes enjoyed the privileges of the latter. While their methods differed, both outcomes were about equally dangerous. It simply depended on personal preferences between death and torture.

Gabriel was about to face a fairly standard mix: three with some decent power between them and half a dozen grunts. He knew none of them by name, but the archangel didn’t need names to hold power over the twisted souls.

Gabriel decided that the demon that had drawn blood from Gabriel’s siblings would be the last to die. The attendant at his left-hand would be allowed to go temporarily free in order to spread the story, and as such would be one of the first that Gabriel dealt with.

It was important that one of the intelligent demons be exorcised in order for the account of Gabriel’s anger to spread. Gabriel’s touch would mark the demon so that the next time it assumed corporeal form, Gabriel could find and destroy it to make sure that his message was properly conveyed.

It was equally important that no one realized Gabriel had let the demon go to begin with.

Gabriel returned to the physical plane directly behind the right hand lieutenant and took off its head with a casual swing of his sword. Demon and host died instantly with a flare of brilliant light and the low rumble of distant thunder. Gabriel dropped the corpse, and turned to face the rest.

“Well, this shouldn’t take long.”

He had been right. All but one of the demons had rushed him.

Gabriel flung the first demon to rush him over the counter simply to put it out of his way. Next, he buried his blade in the chest of a portly man bearing a demon with a pitbull-like determination, and seized the previously-chosen demon with now-empty hands. Slamming his palm over the possessed-woman’s forehead, the demon flew from her mouth in a wrenching scream of black gritty smoke. It stung anew considering how out-of-practice Gabriel was, but he felt a renewed sense of determination as he exorcised the demon straight back to the pit.

The woman slumped in his grip. Susan Walker was just lucky that the demon which had possessed her was crucial to Gabriel’s plan. Tonight she would go home to her twin daughters with her memory of the last week wiped clean. The other hosts would not be so fortunate.

Gabriel couldn’t afford mercy.

Gabriel pushed the human out of harm’s way and she hid under the nearest table without further prompting. Reaching for his sword, Gabriel leaned back wards and rolled out from under the animalistic teenager possessed by something much nastier than the boy could have imagined.

A smaller demon in the body of an athletic young woman reached for him. Gabriel rotated the blade into a backhanded grip, caught her arm with his left hand and swung his right back sharply. The blade pierced her throat and the light was a dimmer wash; the thunder paled as Gabriel already focused on the next demon to approach.

Michael and Lucifer were show-offs. Gabriel had learned alongside them and could demonstrate similar technique with enough skill to cause envy among his brethren, but he never used it in battle. Gabriel hated fighting, hated killing, hated raising his hand against his brothers and sisters. And demons just weren’t worth the effort.

Gabriel used fast hard strikes to rid himself of demon after demon, always quick to return to a ready stance. It was his way of controlling the power he wielded. With a thought, he could level the whole town, and his mission required more finesse than that.

Eventually he had to face off with the lesser demon inhabiting the teenager. Its rank was obvious in the gibberish it snarls, unable to speak coherently even through possession. It might be a crossbreed with a hellhound. Demons were twisted all up inside, but this one had practically doubled back on itself. Gabriel suspected it to be badly crippled by the way it kept rolling and launching itself for transport. At first it made the demon dangerous, unpredictable. Now, Gabriel knew the pattern of movement.

Gabriel only dodged once because of the bad grip on his blade. It turned so tightly—springing again before Gabriel could get his blade up to fend it off. Swinging left-handed, he knocked it away with the hilt of the sword. It burned the boy’s face, and Gabriel ignored the agonized garbled scream.

He quickly rotated his wrist to wield his weapon properly again in time to slice the head cleanly from the shoulders of the second-to-last grunt—a middle-aged woman with a wicked pair of knitting needles smart enough to stay hidden and wait for Gabriel to become distracted. It might have worked on a human or even a really minor seraph, but Gabriel could sense the demonic taint better than the average angel.

The teenager-shaped demon had regained its balance on all fours and made another leap at Gabriel. The archangel sent it flying with a thought; it rebounded off a booth with a sickening crack, falling broken to the floor.

Gabriel toed it onto its back dispassionately with his sneaker. It snarled and whined like an injured animal that had been cornered. That’s all it is. Gabriel raised his blade.

“Well done,” the last demon murmured, without looking up at Gabriel. It’s cradling an angel’s blade in both hands, the handle wrapped in a rag to protect the demon’s already-singed hands.

Gabriel lowered his weapon. He would suffer the demon’s touch upon his sister’s weapon no longer.

“I see you recognize my prize,” his opponent purred. “Lucifer—”

The blade ripped free of the demon’s hands and slammed into Gabriel’s waiting hand. The archangel settled the full weight of his gaze upon the demon. “Lucifer would smite you for laying claim to what is _not yours_.”

Gabriel has to believe that much of his brother.

He punctuated his words by driving his own blade into the grunt’s shoulder to pin it to the floor. Gabriel meant to deal with the leader last, but he’s too impatient. This creature could wait. Smoke poured ominously from the wounds sustained by angelic contact, but it could wait.

The more important demon was eyeing him warily. Gabriel shifted his grip on his sister’s sword uneasily. Demons never just sat still for their executions.

The illusions gave him pause.

Shevael, all words, wings, and light, bound into a soft bookish-vessel that couldn’t do justice to her true form but retained the marks of her studying. The ink simply stained her fingers instead of her ruffled wings, and Gabriel was so relieved that she hadn’t died with a sword in her hand. It wouldn’t have fit the shy scholar. Gabriel remembered a sweetheart content to spend her days in Heaven’s halls with a book in hand, perpetually perplexed. Though one of the lesser angels, Shevael had been one of Gabriel’s favorites from the old days.

She reached out with her vessel’s hand for Gabriel’s—or possibly her weapon, but Gabriel doubted it. On his other side, Castiel laid a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, hesitantly. He was actually in his vessel the way it was supposed to be before Gabriel had gotten a hold of it.

Castiel, all light and shadow, his wings a rare dark shade that had attracted attention from every corner of heaven. The blue eyes of his adult vessel couldn’t begin to compare to the deep gaze of the soldier that Gabriel knew from the frontlines of Heaven’s army. He hadn’t been the strongest, but once Castiel had his orders—nothing could stand in the way of his completing them. Anael had bragged about her subordinate’s intelligence, and Gabriel had kept watch from afar as the youngest of their kind grew slowly into a brilliant tactician and a loyal soldier.

Gabriel felt his grace crumple with rage at the sheer needless loss, but he pushed outward, bolstering it with the image of Castiel, bound into a child’s vessel, bare foot and vulnerable and still spitting defiance from the safety of Dean Winchester’s arms. Stupid kid brother.

Gabriel snapped, pinning the demon in place. His calling card as it so happened, and the demon recognized him as Gabriel slashed it from naval to nose.

“Nice illusion,” Gabriel offered critically, as he stood off to the side, inspecting his work. “But mine are better.” He didn’t waste the grace on a demon, just waited the split second for it to look up and drove Shevael’s blade through its bared throat.

The thunder echoed throughout the building and the light was so sharp that for a moment, Gabriel thought that he may have brought Raphael down upon him. It startled him; he didn’t have time for that now. It was with relief that Gabriel realized that although he might have borrowed a bit of his brother, Raphael hadn’t decided to grace Gabriel with his presence.

Raphael carried grudges for millennia.

Gabriel wrenched Shevael’s blade from the dead human, and stepped back from the former demon-container. It was such a waste just like everything else about this whole war. Gabriel carefully wrapped his sister’s blade in silk conjured up on the spot and tucked it away carefully inside his coat. Then he turned towards the last demon.

It knew its time had come, and the demon fled beneath the mind of its host. Intelligence returned to the eyes, and the teen gasped in broken but coherent English. “It . . . it hurts. Please.”

The boy was not so much larger than Castiel’s current vessel. Instinctively, Gabriel crouched beside the boy and rested one hand on his forehead.

Spencer Michaels was fourteen years old. He had watched the _Jeepers Creepers_ movies seventeen times, and was the middle child of what had been a normal middle-class American family. His most prized possession was a customized skateboard, and he was flunking math.

Two weeks ago, a demon possessed him, and slaughtered his entire family. The battle in the diner had broken his spine, seared the pattern of the cross into his face, and left a hole through his shoulder just above his heart.

Any brief thoughts of exorcising the wounded demon and spending the rest of the day chasing it vanished. He laid two fingers on the child’s brow to put him to sleep, and pulled down on his sword until the heart shattered under the force. He stroked the human’s hair once the way Sam Winchester had stroked Castiel’s.

Then he stood and snapped his fingers, leaving the mess to whoever found it.

**The Gabriel and Castiel Show**

_Castiel stared at the ice cream tower and turned his face up to Gabriel’s bemused expression. A drop of cold ice cream landed on his hand. “It is melting,” he pointed out._

_“Ice Cream does that in Florida,” Gabriel returned, catching a splotch of strawberry that threatened to escape. “Eat it before it melts all the way.”_

_Castiel gave his brother a dubious look, and inclined his head just enough to push at the cold treat with the tip of his tongue. It tipped to the side, and he hastily attacked it from a different angle. He concluded that there was no way to eat it neatly._

_Gabriel laughed and handed him some of the napkins that his older brother conjured from thin air. Castiel mopped at the chocolate on his face tiredly._

_They had begun the day’s excursion at a beach in California. After both had nearly drowned, Gabriel relocated them to a dog show in Colorado. Bored, they moved on to the zoo. Castiel decided that providing no one asked, the incident with the Tigers never needed to be mentioned again. And he was endeavoring to forget the Reptile House entirely. Briefly, they managed a calm period at Castiel’s favorite playground, until Gabriel decided that they needed “bigger rides.”_

_Which brought them to Disney World. At least Gabriel seemed to be enjoying himself. He had been quiet when he returned with Shevael’s blade earlier. The brothers had put the blade away for the time being, and Castiel did not actively protest his brother’s day out._

_Mostly because Castiel had a plan._

_Castiel held out his ice cream to his older brother. “I need to be excused,” he offered awkwardly. His brother nodded, and took the ice cream distractedly, attention on the small child screaming unhappily about a fear of heights next to an uncaring parent. Castiel took a step away, and Gabriel’s head swiveled back around, questioningly. “I need to be excused,” Castiel repeated, and pointed at the large sign._

_“Angels,” Gabriel snorted, his eyes already back on the little girl._

_Castiel swallowed hard in preparation to lie. “Falling.” He was one—how would Dean put it again? One lucky son of a bitch. Gabriel took his guilt at lying to be embarrassment at his current state._

_The archangel grimaced and nodded sharply, making a flapping motion with his hand, ice cream disposed of with a thought. “Go on,” Gabriel allowed, and focused on the woman struggling against the straps of the ride now. Castiel hadn’t seen a pterodactyl in millennia._

_He moved towards the restroom sign, checking over his shoulder one last time to make sure Gabriel was completely distracted before closing his eyes and willing himself away._

_Although Gabriel and Castiel hadn’t discussed it—being otherwise occupied by television, battle, and enamored tigers—Castiel felt the surplus grace that his brother had shared with him, waiting for the opportune moment to make his escape back to Sam and Dean._

_He never expected Gabriel to use it as a leash._

_Castiel stepped back wide-eyed. He appeared to still be in the park, a large rollercoaster rose above him on the left, and a brightly costumed employee was hugging small children to the right. The family staring at him across the pathway made him very nervous, and he tried flitting away again, but nothing happened. Castiel tried walking and found himself running into an invisible barrier as a tug urged him back in the direction of the ride where he had last left Gabriel._

_Castiel turned and flew to the shade of the nearest concession stand awning. That worked, as it was closer to Gabriel. By Castiel’s measurement, he had perhaps a three hundred yard radius between him and Gabriel._

_Although that distance was rapidly closing as Gabriel moved closer._

_“Son of a bitch,” Castiel swore quietly, checking over his shoulder hastily. Then a wrinkled hand closed over his ear and jerked him around again._

_“What did you just say, young man?” a grandmother of seven demanded._

_“I said ‘Son of a bitch,’ ma’am,” Castiel volunteered willingly. “Please excuse me. I must . . .”_

_She shook him hard, and Castiel tried to follow the movement to avoid injury to passersby. “That’s what I thought. What’s your name? Where are your parents?”_

_“I am called Castiel. I have no mother, and I am attempting to search for my father, if you would be so kind as to unhand me . . .”_

_“I never! The woman thrust her purse into her nervous daughter’s hands and began dragging Castiel towards an informational kiosk of some sort—outside the boundaries that Gabriel had set._

_Castiel didn’t know what might be activated if an unwitting individual attempted to remove Castiel from said-boundaries. Knowing his over-protective brother, it couldn’t be good._

_“Let go!” Castiel demanded, digging his feet in. “Let me go!”_

_“Mom,” the younger woman tried to intervene, “maybe we should just let the park officials handle it.”_

_“I have never been so rudely talked to in all my life,” the old woman insisted. “I intend to have a word with his father, indeed, I do.”_

_Castiel reached out to his brother._ “Gabriel, help!”

“What did you do?” _his brother demanded, but didn’t wait for an answer before flying in. Castiel had never been so relieved to see the Trickster-Angel before in his entire existence—and that included when he was dying for a second time._

_Old ladies were scary._

_“Castiel!” Gabriel shouted above the gathering crowd and his orders echoed in Castiel’s head alone._ “Come here now.”

_Castiel gave a jerk that actually had an effect this time as the woman refocused on his brother and darted towards Gabriel. Castiel expected Gabriel to take wing the moment Castiel was in reach, but Gabriel grabbed his shoulder instead and pinned him to the archangel’s side with a hard cuff upside the head that hurt considerably more than the old woman’s grip._

_“Thank you for finding him,” Gabriel smiled prepared to act his most charming. It temporarily stunned the grandmother, who gaped for a long moment, before regaining her indignation._

_“Are you this . . . this delinquent’s father?” she demanded righteously._

_“No,” Castiel muttered into Gabriel’s shirt, before Gabriel could tell the lie he was considering. “He’s my brother.”_

_“I demand to speak with your father, young man,” the woman poked Gabriel in the chest._

_“That’s not possible,” Gabriel explained softly. “Our father left some time ago.” Castiel ducked his head in an attempt to look like a saddened human child._

_“Mother,” the younger woman hissed, but her mother would not be deterred._

_“Are you responsible for him then?”_

_“Yes, ma’am.”_

_“I heard him use the most appalling language . . . and at his age too!”_

_“We will discuss it,” Gabriel promised so sweetly that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Thank you for the charming consideration that you’ve showed a lost little kid.” The woman sputtered, but Gabriel gave Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze. “Go on, Castiel. Thank them.”_

_Completely confused by his brother’s game, Castiel nodded and murmured his appreciation, attention equally divided between the mother and daughter, both of whom were now flushed scarlet as the crowd looked on._

_“Come on, Castiel,” Gabriel urged, and pulled Castiel along. The smaller angel had to run to keep up with his brother’s strides—an annoyance since Castiel’s vessel had been taller only twenty-four hours ago. “What did you say?”_

_Castiel felt his vessel’s cheeks warm. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered lowly._

_Gabriel let out a low chuckle that didn’t sound all that amused. “Since when do you swear, Castiel?”_

_“Dean is a bad influence,” Castiel grumbled, risking a cautious look up at his brother. The same tired expression from this morning was back on his face. Castiel felt unsettled by that expression even though his escape attempt had been a justified maneuver._

_Gabriel glanced down at him, and ruffled Castiel’s hair absently. “Could have told you that,” he sighed. “Alright, did anyone see your Houdini act?”_

_Castiel regarded his brother blankly._

_“Did anyone see you appear out of midair?” Gabriel corrected. Castiel nodded reluctantly. Gabriel sighed, and with a snap, Castiel’s clothing changed color and style abruptly. A funny hat fell over his eyes, and Gabriel tipped it back automatically for him. Gabriel had replaced his own clothes with brightly-colored and loudly-patterned shirt and shorts in clashing colors. Probably because of the pterodactyl incident._

_“Now that we’ve gotten the escape attempt over with, can we just have fun now?”_

_Castiel sighed, and pointed to a ride at random. “I am curious about that one.”_

_Gabriel laughed, clapped his hand over his brother’s shoulder again and snapped away half the line. Castiel submitted himself to the dizzying effects of mechanical entertainment, and resolved to wait until tomorrow for his next attempt._

**We now return you to your regular broadcasting.**

Milk and cereal had been more successful than soup and sandwiches. Castiel hadn’t bothered fighting them over breakfast, simply ate the **Honeycomb** cereal placed in front of him and continued to study the Sumerian etchings that Bobby had dug out from under the texts on the Babylonian pantheon.

Bobby was pacing back and forth between the stove making pancakes for the rest of them. Castiel had turned the offer of hot breakfast down, but Dean was not going to press it this morning. The kid had eaten something for his peace of mind. That will have to do for now.

More pancakes for the rest of them.

Drowning his pancakes in enough syrup for twice their number, Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam is also eating predominantly for Dean’s sake rather than his own, but his practically-vegetarian nonsense is a lot easier to ignore with Bobby’s home-cooking being tailored to their specific preferences.

“So,” Dean goes for nonchalant, “how goes the Sumerian, Cas?”

Blue eyes focus on him slowly. “While this information may have come in handy during our experience with Famine, I do not believe it will provide us with any assistance in confronting Pestilence.”

Dean sighed, and added more syrup to his plate. Sam rescued the syrup and looked at Dean’s pancake tower with disapproval. “Don’t worry, Dean. We’ve got a fairly solid plan this time around.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that worked so well with Famine,” Dean grumbled, poking a sausage suspiciously.

“Have faith, Dean,” Castiel repeated solemnly. The effect was not at all ruined by the milk mustache that the pint-sized angel had acquired.

At least that was Dean’s story, and the oldest Winchester was sticking to it.


End file.
